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blaze of glory

The Bet rolls on, and Annie is almost half way home, with posts three, wherein Annie comes to terms with my asskickery:

Young Wil: “Ooooo…look at me. I’m a movie and TV actor…boo bitty bee
bee. I live in a fort where I battle cardassians with my Teddy Ruxbin.
My best friend Shane Nickerson is coming over tonight to play truth or
dare and ride Tron bikes. I really want to ask Lando Calrissian to the
Spring Fling but Princess GAY-A keeps cock blocking me. Fucking Whore.
Shane’s going with Boba Fette just to up his cool factor. Plus he can
score some juice boxes. Did you know Shane can pound one? Oh man, he's
my hero! Come on unicorn. Let’s go to the Northern Quadrant and cover
an X-wing fighter with maxi pads. Boo bitty boo boo bippity boppity
boo, I’m was in Stand By Me.”

Ok Wil, I’ll admit it. I don’t know what ‘5d20 times’ means. Nor do I know the actual size of a ‘nanosecond.’

But do you know what this means?

Beware of my ghetto photoshop.

Elbow, double bird, and Send.

And four, where the tragic reality of a month without Nickerblog settles in and takes hold.

Nickerblog Nickerblog, boo bitty boo,
Rest in peace nerd diggity doo.

But know this…

As you ‘unplug’ yourself, I will be hacking my way into your encrypted
mind with my multi vector assault mode and GHz GHB Built-in Boot ROM A
DOM DOM . Oh, I’ll find you bitch. Hiding under the covers with a
penlight trying desperately to reread Harry Potter or making out with
your hand to pictures of Jessica Stover.

However, for now, I mourn.

Oh, and you know what else we learned? Annie has a sister, who also has a blog:

This is Steffie, Annie's sister...the brunette in the picture up on
the right hand side, holding Jesus' Favorite precious hand. Yes, I
know, I was never "Jesus' FAVORITE" but you'll have to read MY blog to
get THAT story (wah wah) Although I'm proud of her trashing abilities,
I'm glad Wil and Shane get a taste of WHAT I HAD AS A KID, growing up
in her shadow sucked.

But really, I've had a blog for months and no ones ever read MY BLOG.
"Oh look at me, I'm Annie and I probably have over a million hits and I
just started to BLOG." The counter on my blog has one hit, my dad, and
he just commented that I should be more like Jesus' Favorite. But
you'll have to read MY blog to get THAT story (wah wah). I mean, my
sister didn't even know what a blog was until the guys made a bet with
her. I tried so hard..."Annie, it's really cool, seriously, you should
have your own blog." "No Steffie, that's only for nerds." So, that's
the story of my life...thank GOD I have found some solace with the
nerds. Playing second fiddle to Jesus' Favorite sucked. But you'll have
to read MY BLOG TO GET THAT STORY. WAH FUCKING WAH.

One of these days, Annie is going to have her own show on HBO, or she'll be a cast member on SNL (even though she's really too talented to waste it on them). Some publicity jerk will make an appointment with Annie's assistant's assistant, and after waiting in the hall for six hours while Annie listens to Winger on repeat and drinks champagne out of the coke-rotted skull of Ashley Olsen, (who mysteriously died while hosting the show months earlier), that publicity jerk will be granted entrance to Annie's gold-plated dressing room. After carefully stepping over the empty wine bottles and pot bellied pigs, the publicity jerk will tell Annie, "Excuse me, Ms. Ser --"

"Don't look at me!" Annie will shout, from behind her veil.

"Sorry, sorry." The publicity jerk will say. "The network thinks it would be a great idea to synergize the audience by cromulently maximizing the interactive --"

"If you want me to start a BLOG, just ask me to start a BLOG," Annie will say, from atop her pile of plush velvet pillows. "Because I've had a BLOG since all the way back in 2005, right before Nickerson and Wheaton . . ." Annie's voice will trail off, a tear will form, and it will slowly work its way down her cheek, cutting through inches of blush.

"It's not your fault," the publicity jerk will say, "that you were Jesus' favorite. Being the king and the duke just didn't compare. Nobody blames you for their mysterious disappearance."

The publicity jerk will offer some stock condolence, which was perfected by the network for use on Mike Meyers in 1993, and slowly back out of Annie's gold-plated dressing room. As the door closes, Annie will look down at her computer, and evil grin growing behind her crocodile tears.

Someone looking very closely may see me and Shane, trapped inside, Tron-style, silently screaming for salvation.

Annie will look at the computer and say, "You heard the publicity jerk.Write me a BLOG, and make it . . . brilliant!"

The keyboard won't make any sounds, but the words will appear, as if by magic, across the screen:

Dear Blog, I often wonder how I got to be such a great master of blogging, and how I finally embraced my inner NERD. Well, from high atop 30 Rock in New York, while I'm waiting to go do a sketch with Rosie Perez, who is having some sort of inexplicable career revival, I'll tell you. It all started at this little theatre in Hollywood, where I was never loud enough for the back row to hear me. That's where I met the NERDS . . .

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blaze of glory

The Bet rolls on, and Annie is almost half way home, with posts three, wherein Annie comes to terms with my asskickery:

Young Wil: “Ooooo…look at me. I’m a movie and TV actor…boo bitty bee
bee. I live in a fort where I battle cardassians with my Teddy Ruxbin.
My best friend Shane Nickerson is coming over tonight to play truth or
dare and ride Tron bikes. I really want to ask Lando Calrissian to the
Spring Fling but Princess GAY-A keeps cock blocking me. Fucking Whore.
Shane’s going with Boba Fette just to up his cool factor. Plus he can
score some juice boxes. Did you know Shane can pound one? Oh man, he's
my hero! Come on unicorn. Let’s go to the Northern Quadrant and cover
an X-wing fighter with maxi pads. Boo bitty boo boo bippity boppity
boo, I’m was in Stand By Me.”

Ok Wil, I’ll admit it. I don’t know what ‘5d20 times’ means. Nor do I know the actual size of a ‘nanosecond.’

But do you know what this means?

Beware of my ghetto photoshop.

Elbow, double bird, and Send.

And four, where the tragic reality of a month without Nickerblog settles in and takes hold.

Nickerblog Nickerblog, boo bitty boo,
Rest in peace nerd diggity doo.

But know this…

As you ‘unplug’ yourself, I will be hacking my way into your encrypted
mind with my multi vector assault mode and GHz GHB Built-in Boot ROM A
DOM DOM . Oh, I’ll find you bitch. Hiding under the covers with a
penlight trying desperately to reread Harry Potter or making out with
your hand to pictures of Jessica Stover.

However, for now, I mourn.

Oh, and you know what else we learned? Annie has a sister, who also has a blog:

This is Steffie, Annie's sister...the brunette in the picture up on
the right hand side, holding Jesus' Favorite precious hand. Yes, I
know, I was never "Jesus' FAVORITE" but you'll have to read MY blog to
get THAT story (wah wah) Although I'm proud of her trashing abilities,
I'm glad Wil and Shane get a taste of WHAT I HAD AS A KID, growing up
in her shadow sucked.

But really, I've had a blog for months and no ones ever read MY BLOG.
"Oh look at me, I'm Annie and I probably have over a million hits and I
just started to BLOG." The counter on my blog has one hit, my dad, and
he just commented that I should be more like Jesus' Favorite. But
you'll have to read MY blog to get THAT story (wah wah). I mean, my
sister didn't even know what a blog was until the guys made a bet with
her. I tried so hard..."Annie, it's really cool, seriously, you should
have your own blog." "No Steffie, that's only for nerds." So, that's
the story of my life...thank GOD I have found some solace with the
nerds. Playing second fiddle to Jesus' Favorite sucked. But you'll have
to read MY BLOG TO GET THAT STORY. WAH FUCKING WAH.

One of these days, Annie is going to have her own show on HBO, or she'll be a cast member on SNL (even though she's really too talented to waste it on them). Some publicity jerk will make an appointment with Annie's assistant's assistant, and after waiting in the hall for six hours while Annie listens to Winger on repeat and drinks champagne out of the coke-rotted skull of Ashley Olsen, (who mysteriously died while hosting the show months earlier), that publicity jerk will be granted entrance to Annie's gold-plated dressing room. After carefully stepping over the empty wine bottles and pot bellied pigs, the publicity jerk will tell Annie, "Excuse me, Ms. Ser --"

"Don't look at me!" Annie will shout, from behind her veil.

"Sorry, sorry." The publicity jerk will say. "The network thinks it would be a great idea to synergize the audience by cromulently maximizing the interactive --"

"If you want me to start a BLOG, just ask me to start a BLOG," Annie will say, from atop her pile of plush velvet pillows. "Because I've had a BLOG since all the way back in 2005, right before Nickerson and Wheaton . . ." Annie's voice will trail off, a tear will form, and it will slowly work its way down her cheek, cutting through inches of blush.

"It's not your fault," the publicity jerk will say, "that you were Jesus' favorite. Being the king and the duke just didn't compare. Nobody blames you for their mysterious disappearance."

The publicity jerk will offer some stock condolence, which was perfected by the network for use on Mike Meyers in 1993, and slowly back out of Annie's gold-plated dressing room. As the door closes, Annie will look down at her computer, and evil grin growing behind her crocodile tears.

Someone looking very closely may see me and Shane, trapped inside, Tron-style, silently screaming for salvation.

Annie will look at the computer and say, "You heard the publicity jerk.Write me a BLOG, and make it . . . brilliant!"

The keyboard won't make any sounds, but the words will appear, as if by magic, across the screen:

Dear Blog, I often wonder how I got to be such a great master of blogging, and how I finally embraced my inner NERD. Well, from high atop 30 Rock in New York, while I'm waiting to go do a sketch with Rosie Perez, who is having some sort of inexplicable career revival, I'll tell you. It all started at this little theatre in Hollywood, where I was never loud enough for the back row to hear me. That's where I met the NERDS . . .